Welcome to December

Thanksgiving has come and gone. Between all the baking I did and the subsequent eating, I gained around four pounds, but that’s ok. Why? Well, for one, it was Thanksgiving. While I was worried about this exact thing happening, I figure that Thanksgiving is one of the three days of the year I should be able to indulge within reason and not guilt myself over it (the other two being Christmas and my birthday). Note the key phrase, “within reason”. So yes, I gained four pounds last week. On the other hand, I did not stuff myself to pain or even real discomfort during Thanksgiving dinner, so I consider that a major plus considering my control issues. Four pounds is not that much. I will go back to following the rules I rather blithely ignored last week, and the pounds should go away again. Plus, my amazingly supportive husband has offered to pay my way into some sort of exercise-related something (I am still trying to find a bellydance instructor, and am keeping my fingers crossed). So I will accept the price of enjoying my holiday-related indulgences last week.

Beyond that, I wanted to share something I found on Facebook by way of a friend. It appears to be public, as I was able to read it, and it very well illustrates something I’ve been pretty irritated by for a while.

When the news reporters interview me in my prison cell, when people are filling out their life or property insurance claims, when my victims’ parents and children and spouses stand up on the witness stand and cry and look over at me handcuffed to my defendant’s chair and beg to know “Why???” I will have an answer for them.

“One too many fat jokes.”

Seriously. We aren’t funny. To me, laughing at a fat person and how fat they are is like laughing at a heroin addict and how addicted to heroin they are, or laughing at a person with Down Syndrome and how Down Syndrome-y they are. In the one case, the laughing person is making light of someone’s crippling addiction, and in the other, they are making fun of someone who was just naturally born different. And in both cases, the butt of the joke didn’t have any say in the matter–you might choose to take heroin, but you don’t choose to be addicted to it any more than someone with Down Syndrome chooses to be born with Down Syndrome. So it’s pretty nauseating to me to see the way fat people are portrayed in the media. I am so happy to see that I’m not the only one.

This actually reminds me of a very interesting conversation I had with my sister while she was in town for Thanksgiving. My sister is a smoker, and mentioned the searing judgement that emanates from some people when they see her smoking. I don’t remember her exact wording, but she did seem to imply that I had no idea what that was like. I pointed out that yes, I actually did have an idea of what that was like. How many times have I been in a restaurant and ordering or eating food and wondering what the people around me thought? How many times have I been at the movies with a bag of popcorn and thought that surely everyone around me felt nothing but disdain for the fat chick who really didn’t need all those calories and salt? Hell, I’ve even been embarrassed about my food choices on my own blog. So it was interesting to connect those particular dots and illustrate how my sister and I had that particular sort of connection going on.

Given the way Thanksgiving went for me, I am now dreading Christmas a lot less. I think I will be even less afraid if I can find a good bellydance or yoga class between now and then. In the meantime, stay warm, everybody.


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